


Graces

by lamardeuse



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-14
Updated: 2010-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wouldn't kill him to be nice.  Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graces

**Author's Note:**

> Written for due South Flashfiction on Livejournal (180 degrees challenge).

  
Ray kicked himself for about a week after he made the crack.

Truth was, he loved listening to Fraser sing.  Fraser singing was pure and sweet and clean, like water you got out of some mountain stream in the Rockies, way high up where nobody'd ever been. 

But it sucked that he'd only given Fraser the compliment about his singing after making the crack about the way he moved.  Because that made it sound like a consolation prize.

Still, Fraser seemed tickled by it, and then they didn't talk about it again, and Ray kicked himself for a while, and that should have been that.  But the moving thing kept nagging at him, in strange moments, when he least expected it.  When they were walking along the street, or Fraser was talking to the dog, or when they were eating Chinese at Ray's place after a long day on stakeout.

And then it hit him.  He wanted to be--nice.

Polite, y'know?  Instead of always saying the first thing that popped into his head, which usually sucked, or tended to get him punched in the mouth, he could hold himself in, like Fraser did, observe the social graces, as They say.

He was tired of opening his mouth to apologize, when he never should have opened it in the first place.

It wouldn't kill him to be nice.

Right?  


 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

 

 

  
"No, after you." 

That was the fifth person.  Fraser was shocked to feel himself growing impatient.

"Ray.  Ray.  _Ray._"

"Oh.  Sorry, Frase.  Coming."

_Oh.  Sorry, Frase.  Coming?_

Not _I'm comin' already, keep yer shirt on?_

Something was desperately wrong with Ray.  Had he had another of his disastrous run-ins with Stella?  That always tended to flatten his self-esteem for several days afterward.  But this bizarre behaviour had persisted for over three weeks now.

It had crossed his mind that Ray was holding up a mirror to Fraser himself, because he certainly seemed to be aping several of his mannerisms.  But there was no discernible motive for this.  And Fraser had a hard time believing that it was in Ray's nature to be consistently and systematically cruel. 

There simply had to be a logical explanation.

"Fraser?  You okay?"

"Yes," Fraser said, a little more sharply than he'd intended.  "I'm fine, Ray."  He opened the passenger door of the GTO and slid into the seat.  


 

 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

 

 

  
"Would you like some more of these dumplings?"

"No, you go ahead, Frase.  I don't want to hog them, y'know?"

"But they're your favourite.  Please--"

"Yeah, but I never asked if they were your favourite too, did I?  For all I know--"

"I honestly don't attach that much importance to--"

"--could be yours, too, and I never asked."

"Ray.  _Ray._"

"Hmm?  I'm sorry, what did you say?  I was kinda talking over you there."

"Ray, don't take this the wrong way," Fraser said, rubbing almost violently at his eyebrow, "but I believe if you keep this up much longer, you'll drive me insane."

Ray frowned, and it struck Fraser that he hadn't seen that trademark scowl in nearly a month.  "Keep what up much longer?"

"These--" he waved a hand "--disturbing tendencies you've been exhibiting.  You haven't been yourself for some time now, and I'm beginning to--no, I _am_ concerned.  Is there something wrong?  Something I can perhaps help you with?"

  
Ray stared at him for a long moment; then, his gaze slid away from Fraser's face and he tumbled into one of his mirthless laughs.  "See, now, that's funny," he said, his lips stretched thin.  "That's real funny."

"I don't understand."

Ray's eyes lifted again.  "What's there to understand?" he demanded.  "I tried, and I fucked up.  Simple."

"Ray--" Fraser was beginning to feel like Alice down the rabbit hole.  "What did you try?"

"I tried to be you!" Ray exploded, pent-up emotion propelling him from the couch and across the floor.  "I tried to be nice, and polite, and fuckin' _considerate_." He barked a laugh.  "Only when I do it, it's ‘disturbing tendencies'.  Gotta be somethin' wrong with me, huh?"

"But--why would you want to change your personality?" Fraser asked, stunned at this turn of events.  Ray wanted to be--

"Doesn't matter," Ray said, shaking his head with determination.  "I couldn't do it."

"But you _did _do it," countered Fraser, rising and approaching the other man with caution.  "If you were intending to be polite and courteous, you were extremely successful, Ray.  Francesca even smiled at you the other day when you complimented her, do you remember?"

"Yeah," Ray admitted.

"But what I still don't understand is why," Fraser persisted.  "I mean, it's not as though you were a rude, boorish ogre before this.  I've always found you to be thoughtful and considerate."

Ray snorted.  "Yeah.  Sure, Frase."

"I'm not talking about your manners," Fraser told him. 

"What else is there?" Ray snapped.

Fraser cocked his head at him.  "Your heart, Ray," he said, simply.

Ray gaped.  "My--"

"Yes."  He scrambled for a way to articulate it.  He'd certainly had enough opportunities over the last year to ask himself why he was so drawn to the man before him.  "Your external behaviour isn't important.  Not when it's clear you have a pure heart."

Ray's tongue darted out to wet his lips.  "Pure."  The word obviously jarred with Ray's self-image. 

"That's right."

"You can't see it," Ray whispered.  "You don't know where it's been."

Fraser's own heart executed a slow flip in his chest.  His adrenaline surged, and he felt himself become fidgety, like the dogs in the hours before a blizzard.

"I don't know all about it, no," Fraser admitted.  "But I'd like to."

"Why?" Ray said, in a small voice.  "Why?"

"Because--it's yours."  He took a deep, cleansing breath.  "And it's a good one."

_And, dear Lord, I want it._

"Okay," Ray said on a gust of expelled air.  "Okay.  Thanks."

Fraser couldn't help reaching out then toward the lost look which remained in his eyes, couldn't resist the urge to run tentative fingers along Ray's jaw line.   At the last moment, he changed course for safer territory, and his hand settled to cup Ray's shoulder in what he hoped was a comradely gesture.

"I'm, ah, I'm sorry about the block of wood thing, though," Ray said.

Fraser frowned, trying to remember--oh.  That.  Was that what had set this in motion?  "I'd forgotten all about it."

"Don't wanna hurt you.  But I do, sometimes, I know that."

Fraser swallowed, shook his head slowly.  "There's always a risk of that happening--in close relationships."

Ray's mouth quirked.  "You think it's worth it?"

And here was the question.  Fraser knew that it was not merely academic: Ray was asking whether or not Fraser believed _he _was worth it.  It pained Fraser to be reminded this kind, brave, complex man thought so little of himself.  It brought a swift, unexpected fierceness to his blood, a sudden desire to eradicate all traces of doubt.

Ray's eyes widened when Fraser's hand slid around to cup the back of his neck and tug him forward, until barely an inch separated them.

"Yes," Fraser said hoarsely. 

Ray's gaze darted over Fraser's face, a little cross-eyed because of the proximity.  His expression and breathing rate, the wild pulse leaping under Fraser's thumb, all told of fear and surprise.  Then his gaze met Fraser's, and the fear seemed to drain away into pure shock.

Ray's hand rose to press against Fraser's chest.  But instead of pushing him away, the palm spread and flexed, then clenched into a fist.

Ray's eyes closed, and every muscle in his body seemed to loosen.  "God, tell me that's me you're seein'.  Tell me--"

"It is you," Fraser insisted.  _Please believe me--_

"I wish you could be my fuckin' mirror, but then I'd never leave the bathroom--"

"Ray--"

Ray's eyes were screwed shut; he swayed slightly, and his lips brushed against Fraser's for a split second.  "I want to be better, Fraser, you make me want to be better, but now you're sayin' I'm already there, and it's like that second before you jump, and I can't decide which way--"

"Do you want me to decide?" Fraser whispered.

"Naw, naw, never get anywhere that way, just give me a--" His nose bumped against Fraser's before his head tilted.  When he spoke, his breath puffed hot against Fraser's lips.  "Just--can't wrap my head around this.  You should have somebody nice, somebody _polite. _ I thought if I--"

And Fraser was normally a wellspring of patience, but Ray was caught in an endless loop of self-doubt, and at this rate, they'd be old men before he extricated himself.  There was only one way out. 

Fraser bracketed Ray's face between his hands, and Ray's eyes snapped open.

"Ray," Fraser said, slowly, deliberately.  "_Fuck_ polite."

And Fraser watched as Ray, his Ray, flared back to life once more.

Long-fingered hands tangled in Fraser's hair, and a wicked grin illuminated his angular features.

"Oh yeah," he growled, right before his mouth slammed home.  "I am all over that."

**Author's Note:**

> First published June 2003.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Holding Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461663) by [akite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akite/pseuds/akite)




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